Annabel laughed a little uneasily. ‘Jacques,’ she said, turning to the lad, and holding the habit out, ‘take this for me and leave it in the passage where we have left the lantern. You must be lonely here with only a few men friends. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. And so Winifred understood him. Like appendicitis.
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